The Glow
by Rustinmybones
Summary: About 60 years post Fallout2 a primarily original cast, with one exception, struggle, survive, and sometimes thrive in a world too new to be fair and too old to be easily changed. Opinions appreciated. 1st published fic. UPDATED: 12012008.0316
1. Preface

Disclaimer

All characters are mine except for the glowing ghoul, he belongs to the creators of Fallout. Part of the preface is from the intro of Fallout and belongs to Interplay (or whomever they are now).

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Preface

War…

War never changes.

The Romans waged war to gather slaves and wealth. Spain built an empire from its lust for gold and territory. Hitler shaped a battered Germany into an economic superpower.

But war never changes.

In the 21st century, war was still waged over the resources that could be acquired. Only this time the spoils of war were also its weapons: Petroleum and Uranium. For these resources, China would invade Alaska, the US would annex Canada, and the European Commonwealth would dissolve into quarreling, bickering nation-states bent on controlling the last remaining resources on Earth.

In 2077, the storm of world war had come again. In two brief hours most of the planet was reduced to cinders. And from the ashes of nuclear devastation a new civilization would struggle to arise.

A few were able to reach the relative safety of large underground Vaults – the world's only seeds of hope. Deep below the surface these underground cities were populated by people chosen as survivors to be the future should the worst scenario occur. In the year 2077 it did.

Fourty years have passed since the first hero of our altered planet emerged: the Vault Dweller of Vault 13. He was chosen of all his people to explore the unknown surface in search of a vital component without which his entire vault would be forced to empty. His bravery would save them all. Unbeknownst to the secure climate-controlled vault citizens there was a country of small cities struggling but alive outside their five-foot thick vault door and it was unknowingly on the verge of peril. The Vault Dweller would save them as well. After defeating the Master and his army of Super Mutants the Vault Dweller returned home to Vault 13 bearing the component they so desperately needed along with news of a world no one expected would exist. But our hero was received with fearful disdain and turned from his vault – an outcast.

This world, your world is where our story begins…


	2. 1 You don't have to be crazy

Chapter 1

"You don't have to be crazy…"

"Will you look at that view?" Sighs a light-skinned brunette with short wild hair and a slightly wild look. Clad in an assembly of tattered military garb she stands with her face toward the sunset, enjoying the strong breeze.

[What 'view'? Oh, you mean that panoramic eye-searing reminder that you're one of less than a million survivors spread over what's left of the once flourishing continental US? You're one of the few Americans, wait - there is no "U.S.A.", forget nationality - you're one of the few humans remaining from a multi-million person civilization that paved a road to destruction due to pride and poor planning. Yah… it's peachy. You know, you've never even seen a real peach…]

"Shut up!" She flings her right hand out in a slapping gesture.

"Damn you're bitter. _You_ know, it's really not so bad as all that... it's actually kind of nice... when there's no smog... and the scorched clouds separate enough to let the sun through... and the wind isn't blowing up so much dust... and the nibs aren't in a frenzy - I hate the way their movement makes the water seem to boil, like some putrid living soup..."

[You were saying…]

She glares.

"Anyhow, I have a good spot."

[You're only saying that because you know you're safe up here in this pipe and concrete prison...]

"Fortress... It's a pipe and concrete 'fortress'."

[Whatever. You know, the odds of a lone human (you) finding this place were a thousand to one. Seriously, how many abandoned industrial constructs, only moderately damaged, with consumable water and food intact, almost completely uninhabited (but for the few thingies that we won't talk about), with mostly operational machinery remain? None but this I'd wager… You know you're lucky, blessed, and/or favored by the fates otherwise you'd still be wandering or dead. Saving someone's life always generates a level of fondness… that's why you like this place.]

"Shut-it!" She turns putting her hands on her hips irately. "Great Washington's-ghost you're a shit."

[At least I'm not crazy; you're the one talking to yourself – schizo...]

She smiles surreptitiously, turning to lean on the railing again

"Ass…"

[Yes we are.]

...

["Great Washington's-ghost"?]


	3. 2 Scraps

Chapter 2

"Scraps"

"God, I hope those seams hold." A blond girl with deeply tan skin and a serious expression lowers her welding torch gazing out over the turbulent waters. She takes a deep breath listening to the waves dash against the side of her ship. "That was the last of my fuel" she mutters flatly, she had to make the most recent weld seams much thinner than usual – she hopes they'll hold till she can reach land.

Lean and strong she reaches a gloved hand to brush away chips of metal and ash as she considers her work. Her body looks highly athletic - by pre-war measure – lean and limber. If she were in a picture she might seem young and carefree, but in person her eyes are deep and piercing, they seem to _read_ a person like most people read a book.

She walks over to the television and stands for a moment watching a fight scene with light-beam swords between two men: one in a black robe and the other in a brown one.

"Using a light-saber to fight with when you have telekinetic powers is just…" She mumbles, heaving a heavy stack of unusable metal scraps over the baluster into the murky water "... just stupid."

"I mean, really Ex, why make a movie like this? It makes no sense. Especially when Jedi powers are obviously better in combat…" She pauses to catch her breath glancing at the feline. "Boys. Little boys… or men with the minds of little boys… They're usually the same anyway…" She continues her monologue, addressing Ecstasy the female Siamese cat with blue-eyes and a dark face perched on the baluster. The feline watches her human with calm attentiveness. Like a good listener Ecstasy follows her person as she stows the welding equipment below deck.

"Well, at least I have all six episodes to watch – one down, five to go. That should entertain me enough till we dock…" She remarks lovingly to the furry feline as she gathers her into an embrace.

"Hm? You little purr-box…"

"Well…" She muses setting the now purring Ex on the steering console. "Lets do some fishing, ok? I'm getting hungry."

Her ship is a scavenged deep-sea fishing boat, a 'Mako', if you go by what remains of the logo. She replaced the rotted wooden hull with a welded metal version 'MacGyvered' from pieces of scrap she found mostly on the dock south of the Hub. Managing to attach three extra gasoline drums plus an automatic fuel routing system of personal design she successfully lengthened the 'Mako's' travel distance to five times normal.

After arranging her tackle and line boxes on the floor she baits the three rods standing in their respective catches set into the rail. Removing the smallest from its holder she settles into the fighting chair. Ecstasy gracefully walks the baluster then jumps into the open lap.

One hand on the rod the other gently stroking the soft crème colored fur the pair listen to the sounds of the movie and the ocean.


	4. 3 Never too young to learn

Chapter 3

"Never too young to learn"

"Oy, Guard! Stay on your toes there, trouble could come up at any minute!" This has been the incessant shout of a man named Brigg he owns a caravan that transports supplies between the main cities: New Reno, the Den, Junktown, and NCR.

Right now the caravan is stopped just outside of the Den, all the caravanners are finishing up ties and wraps for their trailers securing their merchandise.

Brigg, the VanMan, runs the whole show, at least he thinks he does. Here's the look of him: he's an oldish fellow, late forties, gray scraggly hair dangling under a dirty Cowboy hat. His too-tan leather skin makes him look meaner than he is and his penchant for nagging the guards makes him an unpleasant man to work for but the fact that he pays better than nearly all other caravans means the hired guns/guards put up with him. Who are these guards? Well, since caravans travel between cities they spend most of their time in what most folk fearfully call the wastes – the barren land between settlements. The wastes are a dangerous place, even for a large group so every caravan hires guards armed to the teeth to travel with the caravan for protection. Most caravans will hire anyone packing heat who looks to have an attitude, but some caravan routs are more dangerous than others, those require a particular caliber of guard and above normally tempting wages. This is one of those caravans, and this is a focus on one of those guards.

"You there! Baldy! Take off those dark spectacles, you'll be ambushed for sure!"

"Dude…" a man of 3 and 30 mutters exasperatedly under his breath, "you've been saying that for the past 4 days, give it a rest." His head is shaven making visible a long scar stretching along his scalp from slightly above his right ear to just under the left side of his jaw. He's a little above average height with the stocky build of someone who maintains his strength for necessity rather than vanity. His garb is fairly dark: black boots (metal toe and heel with a long metal plate sewn on the outside tall-ways), faded blue-jeans, a hockey jersey over a black shirt under a scuffed black bomber jacket, and black fingerless gloves. His visible weapons are a modified plasma rifle that sits in a holster on his back and a Ruger Alaskan Revolver on his hip. He wears dark sunglasses always; it makes it easier for him to ignore people. He doesn't want anyone '_buddying_' up to him. He's got a few friends - he doesn't need anymore. The caravanners call him Red.

"An don you give me eny lip either! None a you! I pay ya to look, listen, an shoot!" Brigg the caravan owner blusters from horseback in the middle of the halted carts.

'pay?' if that's what you wanna call it... blood money more like.

The sound of light quick footsteps focuses his attention behind him – Red's hand moves instinctively to his Ruger.

"Hey! Hey man... uh your name Rebb right?"

"Red" noobs always get it wrong.

"Ooh, with a 'd' right?"

Ugh...

"Right. Hey man, I hear you're old hat at this, the guard thing I mean, you been on this trail a hundred times they say!" The tan skinned guard glances over to the kid – he looks ridiculous. He's thin like a normal seventeeny but the black pants with a white shirt and a too-big black biker jacket make him look nearly twiggy. He's packing a nice gun though, a .44 Desert Eagle… Red's face belies his mild surprise at the two stocked ammo belts the kid has crossing his chest. He notices the bullets in the belts are the wrong caliber. He smirks.

"And?" The walking-stick urges, his bright eyes so wide. There's one nearly every trip, some kid who got bored of the slums decides to buy a gun, steal one if they really think they're tough, and hire on as a caravan guard to seek fortune and fame. And that idiot Brigg keeps hiring em, too blind to notice men over meat… fighters versus fodder. It's a damn good thing we guards hate digging graves…

"Well... you seen lotsa stuff right? The others say you seen mutants an ghouls, they say you beat swarms of geckos..."

Red sighs getting irritated "go away kid."

"They say you found old-time treasure and you're secretly rich from the loot." The kid's still standing there next to him – you're getting on my nerves whelp!

"I said beat it kid."

"C'mon man we're both guards here, I only wanna hear the truth from the legend himself. I heard em talk'n bout how a Deathclaw attacked one a your caravans and killed every man but you because you tried to talk to it – talk to it!" The young guy laughs as though he were talking to an old buddy. The sound of the juvenile's cackling grates the older man's nerves, stirring anger and a familiar sick feeling.

"I knew THAT one wasn't true cause who ever heard of a animal talking; but the others? How about it Red? Is there any truth in those other tales?"

"No!" His voice resonates "Now leave me alone!" Red swings his leg in a smooth motion sweeping the mosquito onto his back.

"Hey!" The twerp squawks in surprise.

Red glares menacingly at the persistent gnat.

The kid's face flushes puce as he looks around in embarrassment "Man, touch me again an... an, I'll hurt ya!" The boy squeaks out what is meant to sound like... a threat? And sure enough, he clumsily grabs his gun which Red easily kicks out of the young one's hand – little withstands a blow from a heavy boot.

In a moment the kid is lifted bodily off the ground, suspended by Red's muscular arms his leather-clad hands gripping the kid's jacket. There's a flash of metal, a knife the kid never saw drawn is held against his offending throat. With angry eyes Red presses the knife into the young flesh.

"You like the thrill kid? You like the idea of danger? Think it'll make you a hero, huh?" He grips the knife more tightly "this is what its like, what you feel right now but worse because what you deal with out here won't give you any chances, human or not."

Red lets the blade cut the young man's throat lightly till he yelps "please! Please! God - don't hurt me!"

"Here's your first memento and a lesson..." His voice trails off as the young wide eyes become liquid.

"Please..."

For a moment Red considers not letting go, not giving him the choice he doesn't know he's making by being here... the hardened man considers hurting the boy, badly, so he can't continue – making the choice for him. Saving him against his will.

There won't be any protest from anyone because they'll all know why I did it, and no one wants another noob to baby-sit and bury. Besides they don't have the guts to save him themselves.

"I'm not going to hurt you kid..." I'm tired, tired of choosing for them… they don't learn that way. "But IT will… the wastes will hurt you, push you, and if you survive you'd better be careful an don't let the job make you numb, because once you're numb the wastes will kill you and you'll deserve it because you let your guard down."

The guard called Red releases the trembling half-man who drops to his knees one hand clutching his bleeding neck.

"And that'll be the end of you. From nothing to nothing."

The experienced Guard stands over the shuddering form for a moment then twitches his fist retracting the blade.

"Oh god..."

"Don't call on God, He won't get you outta this. This is YOUR world, your choice... live or die quickly."

He sneers in disgust at the defiant expression. He hasn't even been listening. What's the point – they never learn, no matter what I say.

"Don't bother me again. I don't have time for thrill-seekers."

"Oy, guards! Back to spots – move out!" There howls Bard, completely unaware of anything as usual.

Ignoring the stares from most and the chuckles of a few he walks with long strides back to his position at the head left of the line, not looking back at the kid still trembling in the dirt.

As the bald man with dark sunglasses walks away he mumbles bitterly "Stupid. I almost hope he doesn't go home..." Pausing, he deliberately bites his tongue sending a burning sensation along his jaw bringing the metallic taste of blood. "Don't say that, don't you EVER say that!" he closes his eyes tightly, remembering the faces of others like this one "Its' not his fault" just like it wasn't the last kid's fault, and the one before. They're young and stupid because no one's taught them better... but damn if it doesn't hurt everyone else till they learn.

Having moved back into position he easily keeps pace idly wondering if the kid got up.


	5. 4 Smoke and mirrors

Chapter 4

"Smoke and Mirrors"

The city is New Reno, a normally bustling post-war hive of commerce and opportunity. Though most residents would use the words 'crime' and 'villainy' its really just a matter of perspective.

In this particular part of town, called the _Shadows_ or _Shadow Alley_, there is no hustle and no bustle. The dim streets are quiet save for the few bums and druggies passed out along the sidewalks. Its a dark place where sunlight meets the street only in sparse patches on bright days. The buildings along this street were tall before the war but when the blast struck the force weakened many of the structures to the point they toppled over leaning on shorter more stout buildings. And so most of the once proud spires are bent and bowed, their walls meeting high overhead creating a concrete and iron canopy. Because of the perpetual darkness all but the lowest kind of people avoid the area making this spot bad for business and leaving it largely unoccupied.

The only people who do venture into Shadow Alley have very particular and usually secretive business.

Such is the case with a group of three men walking determinedly down the street at this very moment. It seems the dapper trio is headed toward a short building with a crimson curtain for a door. It was probably a restaurant in old times, the faded remnants of a sign that vaguely reads "bakery" sits above the window… not that what is was matters, now its just another derelict building with its once charming windows blackened.

The men approach the building with the tallest in the lead. He gestures for the other two to hang back while he walks up to the red cloth door. They do as instructed. The tallest man walks up to the reentrance.

"What do you want?" comes a young voice from behind the curtain.

"Chauser?" the velvety smooth voice inquires "I'm here for an audience with Chaucer."

"Whom seeks this audience?" an obviously adolescent voice with an unusually serious tone demands.

After a small pause the man at the door casually responds: "My employer is Itarek Daulgheste, that's who sent me."

"And your name?"

"Embur."

"Come in – alone."

The largest man, tall with long white hair drawn back in a low pony-tail with pale skin and dark eyes steps through the curtain into a dim room, his Amber colored eyes look to the side at a boy dressed darkly, barely 15 he guesses, eyes obscured by wild black hair. With a gloved hand the boy directs Embur's attention to a suddenly lit candle on a table at the far end of the room, seated at the table is a woman with an unusually beautiful face. Embur walks confidently to the table and sits.

"And what can I do for Mr. Daulgheste?" A velvety smooth voice flows from motionless lips; at this the gentleman realizes with barely hidden surprise that the lovely face is an artfully crafted mask.

"Focus Mr. Embur. My time is precious."

Snapping back to the task at hand he nods curtly. "Mr Daulgheste expects quick action, and the utmost discretion. I have the file on the mark in my left pocket. May I?"

She nods her approval. He can feel another presence somewhere near behind him, probably the boy with a gun – the insurance. It is only expected.

Reaching into his left coat pocket he produces an envelope. He places it on the table.

"Your reply will be expected by noon tomorrow." With that Mr. Embur stands from the table. He takes a step toward the door "Chaucer" he nods.

"Embur." She nods in reply.

Without a glance to the boy Mr. Embur, right-hand to the most powerful man in New Reno, exits into the murky sunlight.

Outside the derelict bakery the two men stand waiting for Embur to return. One man, with short white-blond hair glances around anxiously while fiddling with the wring on his left his hand ever so slightly. The other man, his head topped with wild crimson colored hair stands still hands in pockets. The red curtain swishes aside and Embur emerges, his pale gray suit as tidy and sharp as when he entered and his face a mask of indifference.

"That was quick." Mused the red-haired man, Quake is his name; he has sharp features and warm toned skin. He looks thin despite his flowing black trench coat, but his movements betray him as limber -there is a formidable aura about him that is subtle as his smile.

He searches his pockets for something, his piercing gray eyes casually glancing toward the red curtain.

"Too quick..." The younger, pail haired man, Avek, states casting a glare toward the doorway "suspicious..."

He resembles Embur to no small degree, save for his hair being short and his less pallid skin.

"Avek, everything is suspicious to you. Calm yourself... both of you. It is always this _quick_." Embur remarks dryly to the duo as one would reply to a child.

The red haired man continues unperturbed. "But why him? Chaucer I mean." Having found the cigarette he was searching for he lights it up "Why not one of us? Why not someone proven?" Taking the cigarette between his fingers Quake holds his breath savoring the flavor, exhaling slowly he shivers causing his once red hair to turn a deep shade of blue and his eyes from gray to aqua.

"Exactly!" Avek chimes in agreement.

Embur replies coolly but with a hint of annoyance as he starts to walk back the way they came, the other two naturally follow. "Because Mr. Daulgheste deems this matter too important for anyone but Chaucer. There is discretion to be considered."

"I think its a mistake to hire someone so... theatrical." Avek glances back at the curtained doorway a hard expression on his face.

"He's taking an unnecessary risk with this outsider, I don't know why..."

Embur halts suddenly facing Avek, nearly causing the younger man to crash into him. "Mr. Daulgheste wishes it! That is enough. Remember your tongue Avek, I will not suffer impertinence." His voice is low, threatening, and the younger man that resembles him so much subtly shrinks to silence. Quake looks on, expressionless, but his teal eyes flash to red.

"Come." With a gesture the two men follow Embur out of Shadow Alley, through the streets of New Reno finally to the tall gray building on the East side - the "Tower of Bable" casino.


	6. 5 Play to the audience

Chapter 5

"Play to the audience"

"They're gone Kat." The boy is apparently relieved to say the words.

"Good." The lady with the pale mask responds indifferently.

"Kitty..."

"I know what you're going to say Nate" she stands removing the dark robe she wore revealing starkly normal clothes "and the answer is that it has to be done like this, all the smoke and mirrors, all the mystery and show." She moves deliberately to two other tables on either side of her little one, in moments she's lit a dozen or so candles set in a metal plate; one set on the first table then another set on the other. The room is now lit though only well enough to move about.

Reaching under the second side table she withdraws a deep bag and proceeds to pack her covering garb into it.

"I just don't get it Kat, I'm only 15 and even to me it seems... well, childish." He fiddles with the fasteners of his own covering garb having difficulty.

She stands picking up the envelope and placing it into the bag walks over to him; gently swatting his hands away she undoes the most difficult fasteners then returns to her packing, he removes his cloak revealing his own common attire. Without looking he tosses the overcoat in her direction, she catches it with ease and in the bag it does to join her own.

"You're right. It is childish, but it makes them feel powerful and safe, that's what sets me apart... I'm untraceable." Two jacket are handing on thick nails near where the young man is standing, removing first the larger Nate tosses the leather jacket to her. She puts it on. Reaching into an inside pocket she retrieves a cloth mask turning her back to him she replaces the pale façade.

"But who's tracing?" He wonders donning his own jacket.

"Hm." She turns tossing the molded mask to him "That's the irony; no one is. All the caution, all the security, is just a placebo to make them feel more like real mobsters, real criminals." Having caught the façade easily he looks it over for a moment. "Like in olden times?" He stows the mask in a hard metal case.

"Like in olden times."

He shakes his head like an adult disappointed with the actions of a student "They're competing with ghosts..."

"Well put." Focusing her sea-green eyes on his blue ones she puts her gloved hand on his shoulder "Shall we go?"

Carrying nothing but the mask case and her shoulder bag Chaucer and Nate walk casually to the back of the building where they exit through a heavy metal door with a hydraulic arm at the top. The door slowly inches toward the frame taking several minutes to close the gap, when finally it arrives there is a mechanical click as it shuts. The only sound remaining is the methodical tick of a clock timer.

15 minutes after they've gone there's an explosion and then a fire that illuminates the street.


	7. 6 Too few bullets

Chapter 6

"Too few bullets"

Sitting on a squat metal tank reading one of the many manuals she's found in the library section of the construct Zanna passes a few late morning hours, somewhere around noon though he attention is pulled away by an erupting cloud from the thinnest exhaust pipe visible on the top level. She turns around in her seat to luook over at it. Zanna's learned from schematics and the like that that particular thin pipe vents from the micro reactor that generates energy for the construct.

"There he goes again..."

[Why did you let him live? He's a ghoul, a GLOWING ONE too! You can't even get close to him without loosing some skin. So, why keep him? It can't be for the company…]

"Cork it. Why should I kill him? He's not disturbing anything. He stays in that micro-reactor room and aside from whatever it is he does to cause that smoke from time to time no one would even know he's there. Besides, why waste a bullet?"

[He's a damn ghoul for crying out loud! Have you ever met a friendly ghoul?]

"No, but I've never been attacked by one either."

[Look dummy, they fear your kind, its' evident on their faces. Fear leads to hate, hate leads to violence, and all that means you're a target. What part of this don't you understand?]

"Look , calm down. I know all of this, I'm aware he could be out to get me, I'm aware he probably fears me, but he was human once and I've got a feeling…"

[... A **feeling**...]

"Yes. I've always trusted my gut and its never led me wrong either in a situation or with any person. So I'm going to trust that gut again - I'm not in danger. If you want to leave be my guest, but I'm staying and I'm not spending every day armed and paranoid."

[Your gut hasn't always steered you straight... It's led you wrong before...]

"Shut up." She squints, her eyes turning distant.

[Yeah, I feel you getting tense, because you know what I'm talking about.]

"Shut up!" Zanna turns away putting her hands over her ears, eyes wide.

[Fine, fine. I'll drop it, for now. Anyway, you're still admitting there is a threat then.]

She takes a shaky breath, closing her eyes and composing herself before she turns to speak. When she begins her tone is cool as though nothing had ruffled her. "Any threat there may be is minimal at worst, he's not going to try and off me..."

[You're stupid and trusting. It's ok to be trusting, but once you've been burned remaining so trusting is what marks you as STUPID!]

"Ouch! Oww... ooh, I think that might've actually hurt!" she gestures an overly exaggerated wince. Putting a hand to her chest she belches "nope, its just heartburn. Now be quiet; I need to finish reading this plumbing manual."

[Aah, the crapper. The loo. El Porcelain throne. The pearly alter. the...]

"SHUT IT!"

[...]

"... the swirly maker..."

[Good one butterhead!]


	8. 7 Death and taxes

Chapter 7

"Only two things are for sure in life: death and taxes."

Deep in Zanna's industrial construct in the micro reactor room on the 10th floor is a person, no longer quite human. He's what's called a ghoul, which is to say he's one of the small percent of people on the surface that survived the unhealthy dose of radiation given 50 years ago. Keep in mind I'm using the term "survive" loosely. He resembles what pre-war people would call a "zombie" but without the bloody mess. Yes, this person who was once a man is now simply a walking carcass slightly burned. His name is Marty. His name used to be Dr. Martin Talbert Shaust M.D.. But these days and for the past 80 years he's been just plain ol Marty, glowing ghoul, helpful healer, surprisingly courageous friend with a bad stutter… Marty's been a son, a grad, a husband, a father, a fourty-something nearly over the hill, but always he's been a healer. That was the human side of his life, then the bombs dropped and he became a victim, a survivor, a widow, a founder, a friend, a fighter, and a survivor twice more, but now Marty doesn't know what he is or why he's still bothering to breathe. He reached the end of his wits when his last friend was blown away by a normal human 3 years ago – Harold. Harold, a fellow ghoul, had met the famed Vault Dweller and the meeting changed his… uh, life. Harold was a man of hope, hope he grew in the light of a hero; Harold became himself a hero to many a ghoul, Marty being one. Harold had given Marty a reason to go on, to try, to fight, and to care. Then he was gone, killed by normal humans. After Harold's murder Martin Tal's wandering feet brought him here to this construct, this floor, and this room with its little reactor. Buried in despair he remained, waiting for something to happen, wishing it would be bad.

And now, heeeeeere's Marty…

"I'm trapped in this hell-hole... hiding like a rat! I should leave. But that Fleshy..." he slides a hand along his smooth scalp as though running a hand through his hair "...that human's probably waiting with a bullet for me."

Distressed he turns searching for something to throw when his sight lands on a photo fragment tacked to the wall. Its once colorful hues have long faded to brown but the image is striking nonetheless: a family having dinner in their back yard. A blasé scene in any other sense but this was his family, his wife, his children, his home... once upon a time.

"Its been 50 years I think... maybe more than that..." He reaches for the picture but hesitates to touch it "Laura, Justin... the baby due in July, or was it June... I don't remember..." he sighs deeply glancing at the concrete ceiling "I know I've said it a million times but I can't help feeling guilty I wasn't there with you in the last moments. I wish I had been there to comfort you, to die with you."

He paces a bit, his hands on his head, eyes closed, quietly fraught with an internal clash.

"I'm so conflicted Laura, I don't know what to do." He's facing the picture, talking to the image of a young redhead beautifully pregnant. "I didn't give up though. I know you wouldn't want me to, so I struggled to survive. In the beginning I holed up in the sewer with the other glowing ones to escape the super mutant threat... then the Vault Dweller saved us all. But hunger eventually thwarted us and in the end we had to disband. A few years later I tried to start over with the Gecko settlement, I helped Harold as much as I could and we built a nice city, a haven for us ghouls, and even for the few humans who were willing to coexist. I put my heart into those people Laura, like you said I should do in my practice. I wanted to just curl up and let everything go but for you, because of your beautiful soul and the promise I made to you; I didn't give up. Instead I forced my heart to feel again. Laura I did feel, I put my heart into that city and I hoped for it, like I hoped for our kids, that because of my efforts their life would be better... that they would have a bright future..."

He turns from the image to the table just below against the wall; he places his hands apart on the desk – bracing himself "But the humans of Vault City, led by that Nazi Lanette, plotted against us..."

"Then everything else; that tribal wanderer who gave us hope in our most trying time, that one person brought us peace and a measure of benevolence with the leaders of Vault City..." He sighs deeply, closing his eyes tightly and letting his head droop. "But in the end..." his voice trembles "...they did what humanity always does when opposed to a peaceful coexistence..." He pushes off the table abruptly, fists clenched tightly. "They blew it all away." His tightly balled fists begin to smoke "...The buildings, the people, even our crops and livestock..."

"Humans... those damned fleshys! Murderers! Parasites! Their selfish existence is a viral destructive plague on this planet!"

He glances back at the picture and the image convicts him... he breaks his stare and unclenches his fists. His hands drop to his sides in defeat.

'Human'... 'Fleshy'... when did they cease to be people?

He takes a deep ragged breath leaning heavily on a rail.

"When they attacked Gecko., all those people, ghouls like me, killed – all those innocents MURDERED!" He draws a tattered hand down his face, wishing he still had tears.

"Damn NCR... Damn First Citizen Lanette! Damn that foolish tribal for making us believe there could be peace. And damn us for letting our guard down."

He throws a glittery rock across the room and it clatters to the floor. He walks to the reactor and opens the small hatch flooding the room with a pale green fog, a note pad he had left on the table begins to smoke, then catch alight, turning some scrawled notes to ash. Marty closes his eyes as though savoring the radiation – then slowly closes the hatch. He's brighter now, like a newly shaken glow-stick.

"I won't go out like that. Not to a fleshy, not without taking at least one with me."

His damaged face coated in resolve he strides determinedly to the exit, placing a hand on the latch he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The glowing ghoul makes his way through the construct, checking each level for the enemy presence before moving to the next. Finally, a sound reaches what's left of his ears; it both thrills and terrifies him...

"Back off!" Shouts an unfamiliar voice.

Then silence. His stance becomes instantly rigid.

"Damnit!" The loud voice again.

Noise, like dropped books or paper echo through the corridors, then the sound of running. The footfalls start out distant but quickly, alarmingly, they grow louder, nearer, the position of the runner is difficult to figure as the halls produce a metallic echo.

He presses himself against the wall, his startled eyes dart left and right down the long hall. Panic. He's too far from the stairway to make it quickly enough should the fleshy round a corner and draw a weapon, he's also too far from any hall to sprint for cover.

The fleshys' not running anymore, but I can hear it walking away.

The sound of a rusty door opening and shutting tells him the normal human has gone into the library.

The nearly fluorescent form moves stealthily through the hall leading to the reference library. His pace slows as he draws closer; he knows this area of the plant well as he has occupied this section for nearly two years.

"I don't deserve that..." the now clearly female voice lowers beyond his hearing "...you know I never meant for that to happen!"

Sounds like there's more than one... Damn!

Clatter, it sounds like she's throwing things around.

I've heard this before, all the shouting like an arguement... maybe I'm wrong and there are two fleshies here – no, I've only seen evidence of one... I should make sure. The only thing worse than a fleshy is two.

He moves near the double doors, they're almost closed and he sighs in relief. Peering through the gap into the large cylindrical room he sees the enemy; there it is – alone. The fleshy is standing in the middle of the room holding a large book above its head; it appears to be breathing heavily. Marty closes his eyes deliberately forcing his mind to conjure painful images; the hospital where he was working when the bombs hit (where he was one of only three to survive the effects of the low level radiation). How he rushed painfully home to find the charred remains of his family in their charred home... all the ghouls like him killed before the Vault dweller saved them... the massacre of Gecko and the death of Harold.

These images stir rage in him, so much that the skin on his fists cracks with the strength of his grip. Glancing to the right he notices a fire station still attached to the wall, its axe however was lying on the ground. He picks it up. The blade isn't very sharp, but that doesn't matter, its' a weapon and that's all that's important.

He returns to the door to find the fleshy has moved. Anxious for a moment, worrying his prey has fled, his grim composure returns when it walks back into view.

It screams, so loud and piercing... a scream of anguish.

"Dad! Mom! Please! Please..." It turns suddenly, eerily facing the doors that conceal him, staring.

"My God..." He breaths "she's so young..."

The girl with wild eyes screams again, gripping her hair like she wants to pull it out. She thrashes, knocking papers and books off the desks.

"How could I choose?" She freezes and stands panting, tear streaks line her face...

"No..." she shakes her head, her voice calmer now...

"I had to, I couldn't just..." She turns to her left, gesturing as though someone were there.

"... He wouldn't send anyone, you know that!" She pauses, her hand wiping her eyes. Then she retorts venomously "He was weak and afraid, they all were! If it hadn't been for me, for the initiative I took..." She kicks a stack of books over and pauses.

"We would've drowned eventually, poisoned by our own home if I hadn't..." She stops short, as though interrupted. Her expression turns into one of pain, and she staggers back a few steps. She's staring straight ahead. She gasps every so often as though watching some horrible film. A whole minute passes, he almost leaves...

"How could I know?" She chokes out as tears flow freely from bloodshot eyes down her ghostly pale cheeks.

With a jerk he realizes he's holding his breath. The axe is resting on the floor, and he looks at it as though it were an alien object. He recoils from it.

To think I was going to rush in there and kill whatever I found... Ooh Laura, what am I doing?

"I'm sorry..." The sound of the girl's voice draws his attention back into the library.

"I'm sorry Abba... Daddy... I'm so sorry." She reaches a hand pleadingly out to the face only she can see.

Her hands fly suddenly to the right "Emma... Momma. I'm sor... I love you..." She's reaching with both hands now, pawing the empty air, like a blind man without a cane. She stands turning in a slow circle muttering a string of names as she turns.

"For... forgive me friends... forgive me please!" She wraps her arms tightly around herself, her head bent, body lurching as she sobs. The desperation in her voice hurts him deeply. He knows the kind of pain that spawns such a plea.

"Please..." She's whispering now, he can't hear her, but he can see her speak the words. With her right fist she beats her chest as though in repentance as she mutters; please. Please. Please. Forgive me. Please.

She begins to sway then stumbles, she places a hand on a nearby desk to steady herself then collapses out of view.

In the next moment he finds himself running across the room to the cluster of desks where she had been standing.

I must be out of my mind!

He peers around one of the desks and there she is sitting with her legs splayed out, she's leaning like a doll against the desk. Her eyes are open but she doesn't respond to his approach, she just sits there staring at the floor.

"Uh, a-a... are you h-hurt?" No response.

"A-are you hurt?" He says a little louder, trying to best his blasted stuttering and sound calm despite his thrumming heart.

"My heart..." She slides a dirty hand to the left side of her chest.

"I'm sorry." That feels like such an awkward thing to say, so small, ineffectual. But how can I say to this stranger to communicate that even though I have no clue what happened I understand your pain, at least a little.

He sighs looking at the floor between them. This is one of those times Laura would've said: _words just get in the way_. Though they never did for her, she always knew what to say to sooth someone else's pain... it was the angel in her.

The pale girl with wild dark hair looks at him and the sight of her makes him want to do something, to embrace her, tell her its ok, make her smile, distract her, anything to change that look - she's awake, but she's not there – empty eyes stare half-lidded back at him. This is the doctor in him. Hers is the look he used to see most in the intensive care wing, the emptiness of someone who's lost they're love, someone who's losing time without hope of repose, someone who's lost everything. Blinking those memories away he focuses back on her.

"What's your name?" She's quiet for a long time. He begins to think she didn't hear him.

"Zanna." She seems to focus on him suddenly; she looks to have just realized he's actually real.

"Who are you? I've never seen you before." Her voice isn't distant anymore.

"My name is Mar... call me Tal."

"Pleased to..." She grimaces putting a hand to her forehead.

"Ugh, my head..."

"What does it feel like? A sharp or dull pain?" He squats down to get a better look at her.

"Sharp pain."

"Where do you feel it?" He leans slightly forward trying to see her eyes but the angle of her head blocks his view.

"Behind my eyes and all along the top of my head."

He reaches automatically to touch her but recoils remembering the extra dose of radiation he absorbed before coming over here; if he were to touch her right now she would be burned. He curses himself briefly for his rash action, if he hadn't he might be able to help this girl now or at least examine her a little.

While he's thinking she jolts to her feet shocking him so he stands. Her fists are clenched and suddenly hard eyes squarely meet his. She takes a few steps forward, nearly nose to nose with him. "Wait please!" he warns holding his hands up in caution. She doesn't retreat or even blink. Her skin starts to turn pink from his exuded heat.

"Tag..." She whispers then grins widely, its slightly menacing how the change makes her look like another person entirely. With a sudden shove of her gloved hands she sends him toppling backward into a pile of books.

She squats down before him, her fingers crossed and her expression placid.

"You're it." She says. Standing she vaults over a desk and bolts pell-mell out the door disappearing down the hall.

Tal sits there staring at the swinging doors trying to take in what just happened.

"What did I get myself into?"


	9. 8 Into the ocean

Chapter 8

"Out of the reactor into the ocean"

"There it is Ex, land ho." Stowing the binoculars in her shoulder bag. Ashrex strokes the back of her feline friend.

"Thirty more minutes and we'll weigh anchor, I'll take the float to shore and see what I find." She walks down into the cabin and rifles through a tall wooden box filled with rolls of paper. Finding the one she wants, a yellowed tattered roll, she moves back on deck to a table with a rusty metal top. There she spreads out the paper and anchors each corner with a magnet. Leaning on the desk Ash examines the rustic looking map; its hand drawn on thin leather unlike most of the other maps in the box which are pre-war; those were made by computers on plasticized paper called "vellum" making them more resilient than current maps which are usually drawn on plain bond paper or animal skin. This particular map is of the area she's approaching; it details all cities, villages, tribal settlements, and trader routs known at the time, also any areas to avoid like raider camps, bandit trails, gecko nests, and radioactive or otherwise hazardous places.

"There it is." She points to a large mark "New Reno. Said to be the most modern city since the war. It's also said to be the most dangerous, filthy, mercenary ridden, hotbed of crime."

Meow.

"Sounds like fun doesn't it?"

Rub.

"I know, I know. I wouldn't even hazard going in there if we weren't in such bad need of supplies. That guy I spoke to at Mantis pier, Mr. Avek, promised to pay well if I haul his _cargo_ to the NCR port... honestly baby it's suspicious that he wants to send this cargo by sea when it would be faster to transport it by land in a caravan..."

Ash holds Extacy stroking her soft crème colored fur as she thinks on what the next three days might have in store for her.

"Don't worry CeeCee, I'll be careful."


	10. 9 As luck would have it

Chapter 9

"As luck would have it…"

"Get down!"

Not again, please if there is a creator don't let this be Thrax's raiders! Curse you old man for taking the shortcut off the trail – curse you for not listening to me."

"I said get down kid, damn-it!" Red pushes the kid to the ground saving him narrowly from a flying bullet.

Three are dead; Mills, Gin, and Hartigan. Damn I never expected Hartigan to go out like this... with a new wife too...

His sight lands on a dark haired woman wielding a sub-machine gun.

"Karen!" He shouts running toward her as the raider behind her takes aim and fires.

Too late, they got her. Karen Mondragon, one tough chick, and nobody had a nose like hers; she could smell water miles away. She's a huge bitch till you get to know her, a real hard-ass, but if you're lucky enough to get close there isn't a thing she wouldn't do for you. Geeze, Karen... Red grabs the kid's pale face shouting above the gunfire "Stay with me kid and for the love of life watch yourself!" Releasing the young face he moves cautiously to where Karen fell. Red crouches over the dark haired woman laying on her side in the red earth the smoking SMG still in her left hand. She's not tall, maybe 5'5", has a solid build with a pretty face; her light brown eyes stare sightlessly at the darkly clouded sky. His attention is drawn back to the fight just in time to catch a glimpse of the man responsible: "Anthrax" he calls himself, unimaginative ideot, but the names descriptive enough because that's what he is, a plague in a small package. Everything he comes in contact with gets ruined.

That bastard Anthrax, he can't just take the valuables and money, no, he's got to take everything! Even looting the bodies of the guards n merchants. Greedy bastard.

Red reloads his modified SMG and fires a burst shot into the oncoming group of raiders killing one, bringing two to the ground, and slowing down a few others. He reloads. The bald man wearing dark sunglasses moves between and under the carts, shooting raiders wherever he can. Got one in the calf – not a fatal shot but he'll have a hard time standing. One in the butt – hopefully I got his liver. Another, and another, working his way to the corpse of his friend Fredrich Giles better known as Hartigan, hopefully they haven't already looted his body, all his money and the deed to the new land were on him. Red intends to bring those items and as much else as he can to Nancy, Hartigan's fionce. He'd want it that way.

He reaches the body, Hartigan's badly wounded there are some holes on his chest, and his head is pretty bloody though the wound isn't visible. Red drags his friend a few feet away from the line of sight between two carts and begins searching his coat pockets.

Suddenly a knife is at his throat.

"Hart!"

"Hands off..." His friend coughs roughly.

"Freddy, its me – dude you're alive!" The knife bearing hand falls aside.

"Armor." He gasps. Rapping his fist on his chest.

Red opens his friend's jacket and loosens the straps on the military bullet-proof vest. Hartigan coughs then breathes more easily.

"Is it bad, can you move?"

"No an yes." Hartigan blinks hard "though I'm not sure I want to."

Red smiles down at his friend "you're such a jerk…" The red haired man smiles glad he listened to Nancy and spent the extra caps on this vest. "Its heavy out here, but if we head for the cave..."

"What about the Rad-scorpions?" Hartigan rises to one knee, reloading his combat rifle.

"I know those caves, the raiders are as scared of those god-awful things as anyone. We can hide right under their noses then escape at night. I know how to deal with the bugs."

"We'll need..."

"Flares, and glow sticks." Red shifts the bag at his side showing his fellow the supplies "We're ready."

"What about the crew?"

"Our crew is dead. We've got to leave the others if we're going to live."

"Batik, they're all noobs, outtatown's, or civilians. If we kick-out they've got nothing – they'll die for sure!"

"Hart, I don't know if you realize how thick it is out there! The few that are still standing won't make it out no matter what we do. We're an army of two my friend and we've already got one tag-along to protect. Our only options are to commit suicide against Thrax or run to the caves." Red grips Hartigan's jacket, shaking him "They knew the risks man and they've been told the rule. You just survived once, do you want to risk a life with that sweet girl on a lost cause?" Hart got the point. Rounding on the kid Red faces him "hey, listen closely; when we move you move, what we say you do – no hesitation." The kid nods. Red and Hartigan fire a few well-aimed shots into the fray then run pell-mell for the caves about 4 miles in the distance. Thankfully the fires, looting and thunder from an approaching storm provide ample distraction and cover.


	11. 10 Five fingers

Chapter 10

"Five fingers"

The Tower of Babel Casino, the most popular place to be for a thousand miles. They've got everything and more, something for literally any taste. There's the expansive gambling hall with lavish sections for the high rollers and cozy tavern-like areas for the average Joe. There are the restaurants that draw crowds with pre-war themes and promising an authentic historical experience with real meat in every meal – they're a no-rat establishment. There's a shopping section to the Tower that is unsurpassed in selection, quality, and price – you can literally buy anything, and the real perk is that the law won't touch you.

And last but not least is the hotel section; it has rooms so comfortable some people have to be thrown out! But their motto here at the Tower Hotel is: "a bed for every head." The special feature of this hotel is the "order in" menu; it's an unspoken favorite with a menu of the most beautiful women, and men, anywhere. It is a bordaux masquerading as a hotel, which is not uncommon, but to hear the employees of the Order In menu talk about it you'd think the Tower was a slice of heaven. "Here we're employees, not just meat" they'll commonly say.

That's something you'll always hear about Mr. Daulgheste: he takes care of his people. He's a demanding employer, only the best effort with obedience and loyalty will do, but if you give that to him he'll make sure you live well.

Very few of his employees and none but the most distinguished of his customers have ever spoken to Mr. Daulgheste directly, but everyone knows his Finger-Men, his people at the top. Embur, Hyde, Vorrin, Parr, and Marshall. Each is in charge of a particular function of the business, and all are utterly devoted to Mr. Daulgheste and the Tower. Their devotion is so complete, its practically passionate, and every Tower employee knows a word from a Finger is law… and sometimes even above it. Some of that inherent respect naturally flows down to each Finger's "crew", their top people. Avek and Quake are two such people. As you've surely deduced they work under Embur, head of security.

**********

The three men approach the Tower, Embur, Avek, and Quake, their shadows are long as the evening light plays its daily tricks. As they near the Tower front entrance Quake moves subtly behind his fellows. Before they reach the door Avek turns to Quake their fists meet in a casual gesture of friendship, Embur doesn't stop and Avek continues following him along the building. The blue haired Quake changes direction walking away from Embur and Avek toward the dark alley to the left of the building.

Once in the alley Quake lights up another cigarette illuminating his placid face.

"Citypar..." he whispers around the cancer-stick between his lips. Never thought I'd hear of you again... His shiny lighter closes with a click plunging the alley again into heavy shade.

He takes a deep drag letting the smoke out slowly. He turns toward the wall dropping the unfinished cigarette and rubbing it into the concrete. Quake walks to the dumpster farthest from the street and in a single motion pulls it away from the wall. There is a hatch underneath it, being careful of the metal cable running from the dumpster into the wall, Quake lifts the hatch and in a casual movement drops down the hole and out of sight. The hatch slowly closes over the opening as the cable retracts pulling the dumpster back against the wall.


	12. 11 Pecking order

Chapter 11

"Pecking order"

"Welcome home Mr. Embur, Mr. Avek." The burly but very well dressed bouncers inside the Tower entrance greet the two men with white hair.

"Broc, Tamos." Embur acknowledges the employees. Avek simply nods.

Their movements seem rehearsed as Avek breaks away from Embur walking to the right toward the bar. Embur continues straight to the group of elevators in the center of the room. He walks to the right-most elevator and greets the guard in front of it. Embur withdraws a key from a pocket and uses it to open the elevator doors. They close silently in front of his imposing form. Inside the lift he presses the unmarked button on the far right – Mr. Daulgheste resides on the top two floors of the building, Embur clenches and unclenches his fists as the elevator caries him up.

**********

"Busy day Rhalia?" Avek casually asks the head-bartender as she sets down a house beer. She's a fair-skinned carrot-top with bright brown eyes. She wears her waist-length hair pulled back in decorative braids. She's dressed in a rusty brown tank top with dark brown pants. She wears many bracelets on either wrist and her hands are nicely manicured. Her jewelry is minimal and subtle but her eyes are all the "flashy" she needs.

"Sure is sir, even for a Friday." His eyes meet hers as he reaches for the beer still in her hand; they subtly touch, her cool hand under his warm one. They both smile and she slowly releases the bottle.

He clears his throat bringing the beer to his lips. "Have there been any incidents since noon?"

"No Sir. It's been steady and quiet, just like we like it."

"Just like we like it." He grins flirtatiously at her and she blushes a little pink. "Thank you Ms. Rowen. Keep up the good work."

"Yes Sir." She replies regaining her composure, a feisty look in her eyes as she meets his gaze squarely all blush gone from her face.

He steps away from the bar holding her gaze a few extra seconds turning away headed to the first table. His task is tedious, but its' his. Embur knows he has a talent for smelling a cheat and being quicker than quick hands, so it makes sense the task of making rounds at the tables is his to perform and delegate. The casino is busy, but not crowded, only about half of the card tables are in use so there isn't any need to call a second to help check. Anyway, this will keep him close to the bar for the rest of the evening and he wants to be close when 6:00 hits and the real crowd arrives. He wants to be on the floor just in case.

Avek glances over to the bar, there she is, that fiery red-head juggling bottles and mixing drinks like the artist she is. So beautiful...



"Hello Mr. Embur" The overtly polite voice of Mr. Daulghest's secretary greets him. "Mr. Daulghest will see you in just a few minutes."

"Who's he in with?"

"Ms. Vorrin."

"Thank you Lanette."

He casually walks to the wet bar and pours a glass of water; drinking it quickly he places the glass in the sink and sits down.

A short while later, perhaps 10 or so minutes, a tall lady with long silky raven hair walks out, he rises to his feet as she nears. She has dark skin and though her eyes are the warm color of polished wood everything about her from her stance to her attire is intimidating... at least it is to everyone else. Embur sees her as an equal, one of the few people he deems as neither above or below him. But such is the case with each of the Five Fingers; they are all equal in rank, equal in their competence and capabilities though different in their area of talent. But most importantly they are equally prized to their employer Mr. Daulgheste. Unknown to anyone outside of the Five is their closeness to Mr. Daulgheste, "children" and "friends" he calls them to their faces when they're together, "darling" and "precious" in closed quarters, and it is with limitless affection they gaze at him in return. No one knows this, just as no one knows the depth of their devotion to him... not even they know. But Mr. Daulgheste knows, indeed he knows everything that happens in his casino, and that's just how he likes to sit – with all the cards in his hand.

The two Fingers nod to each other with slight wordless smiles. As Vorrin walks past Embur she uses the thumb of her right hand to casually wipe away a smudge of lipstick from below her lower lip. Her unwavering gaze stirs sime tiny emotion in him but he ignores it. His smile fades though and he follows her with his eyes as she enters the elevator and the doors close.

"Mr. Daulgheste will see you now." There's that chipper voice again.

Without a word he walks along the marble floor to the large polished brass doors. With a shove they both swing open to a grand office darkly lit with plush crimson couches and thick velvet curtains. The doors close with a hushed boom.

"My boy." Rumbles a deep but gentle voice.

"Sir." Embur bows low in the direction of the large cherry-wood desk at the opposite end of the room.

"Please, come closer and report."

Embur straightens and with confidant strides approaches the desk. "Chaucer received the package and has been instructed to respond by noon tomorrow."

"Well done. Who did you take with you?"

"Avek..." The large man seemed somehow shy, hesitant to finish his statement.

"And, whom else?"

"Quake..."

"Darling boy, why did you take a BlackHand guard when I instructed specifically that Avek accompany you? I stated no other name."

"I... honestly I was nervous sir, I'm not sure why, I just had a gut feeling that it would be wise to take a guard." He sounds unsure with his eyes downcast and suddenly he seems very young.

An older man with a chiseled but very handsome face stands from his high-back chair; he has salt-n-pepper hair cut close in the style of executives in pre-war times. He is similar in stature and build as Embur, tall with broad shoulders, but his pale-blue eyes are piercing. He is wearing a fine black suit seemingly right out of the pages of pre-war magazines.

Mr. Daulgheste walks around to the front of the desk and stands casually before Embur.

"Precious boy..." Mr. Daulgheste mutters wistfully as he places his hands on either side of Embur's face.

"I have always told you to trust your gut, so I will not scold you for embellishing my directive. And your choice to take Quake of all the guard was wise, he has proven himself trustworthy."

"Thank you sir" Embur's eyes timidly meet those striking blue ones.

The older man pulls the younger man's face close to his "you must trust me _completely_, and do what I say without contestation."

"Yes sir..."

"Precious boy..." His right hand affectionately brushes away a stray lock of white hair. Embur closes his eyes.


	13. 12 Oy vey

Chapter 12

"Oy Vey"

It's been 2 days since their _meeting_, Tal and the strange girl Zanna. He's been wondering about her, he even lightly searched for her but gave up when he neared the lower levels – the idea of being that close to the ground unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. Deciding to let the situation settle he turns his focus on a more productive task: de-radiating himself. I need to be able to touch in case anything happens if or when I find her. Gathering the usual radiation flushing drug (Rad-X) from the med ward he doses himself "now to cool off." The roof would probably be the best place as far as airflow, I'll go up there. On his way up a stairwell it occurs to him how he might as well read while he's up there. Then the idea evolves; better yet, why don't I read the books she's been reading, maybe then I can get an idea of who the heck she is and what brought her to this place. Very pleased with himself for finding a way to accomplish both his goals with a single effort he goes to the library and gathers up several of the books she'd left out. Gathering up some of the books she's been reading recently he takes them to the top level to read. Settling himself at a metal desk near the west railing he takes a moment to enjoy the view.

I haven't been out in the open air in a year... its almost easy to forget what's happened to the land when you're 30 stories above the ground, where the air is cool and almost clean. The sky is even a shade of blue today… well, muddy grayish blue anyway.

He opens the first book, a classical story called "Call of the Wild." And so he begins to read.

**********

"How could she just leave?" Tal lifts his head from the book he's reading at the sound of that familiar voice yelling. Zanna? He wonders cupping a hand behind what used to be his ear, listening. Setting the book on the metal table in front of him he wonders if it was just the wind. He looks around but doesn't see her.

"She just left me standing there, like I wasn't even important!" Nope, not the wind. He stands from the metal table taking a few steps straight ahead to the rail and looks over to the landing 2 stories below. Nothing. Hm… wonder where…

"Argh! I'm so freaking tired of being second-fiddle! And you know what else? I'm tired of you leaving the cap of the friggin toothpaste!"

There she is, Zanna walks into visibility from under the overhang. She's barefoot and her hair is wet, she's storming around like she's angry about something. She's wearing one of the old jumpsuits though she's cut off the legs below the knees and the sleeves at the shoulders. He grins to himself thinking how funny it is that now the two of them match. "Such a curiosity..." He mutters to himself.

"Inside! Without me, I was out... stupid sand! So much sand, but no matter how much I shouted she wouldn't open. Like I would ever steal dinosaur embryos anyway!"

She climbs onto the rail balancing on it. He grips the metal alarmed at her dangerous move. She totters flailing her arms muttering something about bread – his mind races: 28 stories below is the lake, odds are she wouldn't survive the fall, if she did survive the creatures in the water would likely consume her, if they didn't fully consume her I don't know if I could get her out before she drowns, if I do get her out I don't know if I could keep her from total sepsis… Marty shakes his head silencing his panicked rambling thoughts. Pushing away from the rail he bolts away from the wall sailing down the 2 flights of stairs to her floor, praying she hasn't jumped yet.

He nears the open door leading to the balcony and there she is, still balancing and muttering to herself.

"They're all gone, too late... too late... and a spoonful of sugar won't help if there's no medicine." she touches her head, swaying, she teeters dangerously her toes gripping the bar beneath her.

He lunges forward wrapping his arms around her waist and bracing one boot on the top of the rail and the other boot at the base of the railing. In an instant he's pulled her to safety. He quickly releases her standing back as much for her sake as his. She recovers to a sitting position and looks at him incredulously.

"What the hell are you doing Tal?"

He's shocked as much by her rational question as by the fact she remembered his name. "Uh, I-I… well you were on the r-rail, you could've fallen…"

Her eyebrows furrow. "I was?" She looks around apparently realizing where she is. Her expression turns fearful. "O-oh…" She takes a deep shaky breath.

"Hey uh, b-but y-you're ok now. Right, I-I mean I didn't h-hurt you or anything did I?" She runs her hands along her arms then shakes her head. "W-well then g-good." She doesn't say anything, just sits there with her hands in her lap staring at the floor. He stands up feeling a little awkward. "Um, Zanna, I-I need you to check your midriff, t-to se if I m-might've b-burned you when I…" he makes a grabbing gesture "you." She stands and walks through the doorway to his left, her expression distraught.

"Stay there, I'll check."

He blinks hard cycling through all the information buzzing around in his head. As soon as I'm safe for contact I need to examine her head, see if she's sustained some kind of cranial trauma. Then I need to find a psychological reference and verify that she may be bipolar or borderline. If indeed she is I need to see if this place has any medication I can use to treat her. Maybe after all that she'll be able to talk, hopefully she'll be willing to talk, then maybe I can begin to piece together her story.

"I'm done." She walks back out into view her face wholly changed, bright, normal. "I'm alright, not even hardly pinkey. I don't think you're still as radioactive as you think…" she touches her head again he watches her closely.

"H-how did you know… that I was…"

"Radioactive? Tal, come on. Fist you're a Glowing One, so I know you can take massive exposure to radiation. Second you're always up in that reactor room, there could be a crack, or you could just like a jolt from time to time, nothing odd about that. Third when I first saw you yesterday you had just left the reactor room and you were amazingly bright…" his eyes grew wide. She saw me before I saw her, she was right outside my reactor room and I didn't even see her. "So you see, its elementary my dear Watson." She smiles. "H-how do you know so much Zanna, about m-my kind? About ghouls?" She opens her mouth to speak but halts putting a hand to her head.

"Is your h-head hurting you again?" she nods. "Here, turn to face me." She does as he asks and he picks up an old plastic trash can lid shaking it off, he leans closer to her and holds the lid over her head blocking the sun, a few seconds later he moves it, she grimaces. Upon repeating this movement a few times he notes that her pupil response is slow – one more bit of information. "H-here, come in out of the s-sun." She follows him inside "Um, I-I think you should lie down, I'll g-go see if I c-can find something for that migraine." He turns to go to the med wing but remembers an important question "Where can I f-find you when I get the medication?" She looks at him for a second then smiles.

"You're a doctor aren't you?"

"I… I used to b-be one, yes."

"Hm. Thought so." She heads toward the opposite door "I'll be on the fifteenth floor in the head engineer's quarters. That's the level below the one where the mess hall is." She disappears down the hall her bare feet making little slapping noises as she walks. He smiles then rolls his eyes. "I have got to work on this stuttering…" I'd gotten so good about it too, I hardly ever stuttered outside of social functions. I just need to work on it… something tells me I'll have plenty of time for that. He walks out of the room and down the stairs headed for the med clinic.


	14. 13 Of all the bugs

Chapter 13

"Of all the bugs in all the world…"

"Why does it have to be scorpions?" Hartigan mutters to the boy and his friend as they reach the safe darkness of the cave. They pause just inside the mouth to catch their breaths and let their eyes focus. "I hate scorpions…"

"Yeah because it would've been better if some OTHER kind of vicious bug became gigantic and put humans on the menu..." Hartigan rolls his eyes while loading his gun.

"You know what I mean man, I was reading that scorps are one of the three most vicious bugs, the other two being Black Widows and… um, and… well I forget the other. But they're pretty damn vicious!"Red just smirks as he loads his own weapon. Hartigan looks over to the kid sitting near Red against the cave wall gazing out at the wasteland. "Well, what's you're name kid?" the boy of 17ish looks up wide-eyed an old colt revolver clutched in his hands.

"Will… William Skaullic." Hart cringes "my condolences on the name." He stows his combat rifle and draws his Ruger loading it. "Hm, lets see, you've survived your first caravan attack therefore you've earned the kindness of a new name. Now what to call you… Red?"

"Don't look at me…"

"How about 'Craven', that's got a nice ring don'it?" He grins to Red who only shakes his head.

"W-wow, that's really cool sounding – Craven. I could get used to being Craven." Red smirks.

"There's no getting used to it, you're already it." The kid perks up a bit. "Whatcha got there Craven?" the kid jumps to his feet bringing the gun to Hartigan. The older man takes the dirty gun and examines it then sighs. "Kid, this isn't even loaded… Don't carry it if you're not prepared to use it, a weapon can't help you if it's not loaded." He passes the empty revolver back to the kid jabbing him in the chest. "Load it, tell us when you're done." Hart walks over to Red. "Yeh old softy."

"I'm not the one that wanted to save the entire caravan…" Hart nods accepting the truth. "I give us 15 minutes till they're within sight of the cave. Unless we get lucky and a storm covers our tracks they'll track us right here."

"Right. Once the kid's loaded his pea-shooter we can go. You on point?"

"Got any StimPaks?" Hartigan reaches into the deep pockets of his long chocolate brown trench-coat pulling out 4 red and black capped tubes tipped on one end with short needles, each one is filled with a creamy orange solution (a StimPak is a rapid healing solution developed for military use in the war, in a fight they can mean the difference between life and death). Hartigan places the 4 StimPaks in Red's outstretched hand. "In that case yes."

"I'm ready." The kid sounds almost confidant. That'll be good, if he feels like a fighter maybe he'll survive. More importantly, maybe he won't get us killed.

"Right." Walking up to the kid Red looms over him "You will do everything we say, you will not make a sound unless we speak to you, you will not move unless we move and when we do you will shadow us."

"Remember kid, you're Craven the caravan guard, one of three survivors. You lived through ugly already but you're gonna see worse. Reign it in alright?" Hartigan thumps the Craven's forehead with a grin then turns stoic as he follows Red into the darkness. Reaching into his shirt the fiery haired man pulls up a simple silver ring strung on a leather cord around his neck, he kisses the tarnished metal letting it fall back behind his shirt.

Taking large strides Red moves forward. Removing his sunglasses he folds them with one hand stowing them in a pocket within his jacket. His gaze, more like a squint, is sharp as he listens for the tell tale sounds that he's dealt with before. His modified plasma rifle at the ready he makes two sharp twitches with two fingers out to the side of his gun, Hartigan readies himself. There is a vague rustling sound, like feet shifting through sand. Red leans against the cave wall practically sliding along it and the other two follow suit till they reach an opening to their right. After peering in Red slowly backs up. Leaning back to the Hart and Craven Red whispers "there are four Rad-Scorpions in there but they're pretty far in, if we're quiet they should miss us. Be sure to pick up your feet." The trio crosses the opening guns aimed at the distant threats, quietly they move on heading due north through the tunnels. Red feels a jab in his right shoulder, turning around he sees the kid about 10 feet back pressed against the wall with an old looking radscorpion walking casually down the corridor past him. The kid's eyes are wide as he stares pleadingly from them to the crocodile sized scorpion. In a moment the revolver falls from Craven's sweaty hand and the scorpion's stinger is buried in his shoulder. Red's plasma rifle fires a moment too late but leaves a hole in the creature's head. Reflexively it withdraws the stinger to strike again but Hartigan's combat Rifle severs the tail at the tip. The two men rush to the boy's slumped form kicking the hard carcass of the beast farther away.

"He's bleeding…" Red mutters pulling a med-pak from his pocket, opening the little package with a small whoosh sound the pressurized contents expand – medical gauze that he grabs and begins pressing over the boy's stinger wound. In the same moment Hartigan pulls one of the Stimpaks from his coat, removing the cap he plunges the short needle into the kid's arm. The kid gasps grasping wildly finally gripping one of each of their arms.

"… didn't see it… I didn't see it behind me… oh god is that my blood?" Red checks the wound, its not large or very deep, probably no more than 2 inches in. But the problem is the venom, all the antivenom kits are 4 miles back with the caraven wreckage.

"Shutup kid just breathe."

"Red!" Craven pulls on Red's coat desperately "Red don't let me die! I'm-mm sorry I took this job!" He gasps tears streaming down his dirty face "Yourr right mann…" He's beginning to slur his speech, this is getting worse fast.

"Shut up kid! Gorammit!" Red shouts frustration creasing his brow. Hart pulls another Stimpak but Red stops his hand.

"Red!"

"Don't waste it…" Red's voice is quiet, his unshaded eyes hidden in the murky darkness. Craven gasps a few times blood flowing more freely from the stinger wound. Hartigan understands, he's the only guy Red's ever known who's seen the horror of the wastes and is still somehow totally human. He's a good guy, I know this is gonna haunt him, but he recognizes the point of no return when he sees it. The kid mumbles something to his girlfriend I'm assuming, then slowly, gradually relaxes into silence.

"Time of death, 22:48…" Hartigan says standing to his feet and pulling a hand-sized leather bound notebook from his thigh pocket, he makes a note and in a few seconds places it back in his pocket. Red closes the kid's… Craven's eyes. Reaching into his clothes he removes the boy's gun, bullets, food items, any medical supplies he might have, and an engraved pocketknife. Red hands the knife to Hartigan who stows it next to his notebook. The sound of radcsorpions in the distance draws their attention. The arachnids smell the boy's blood. Reloading their weapons the two guards move along the corridor swiftly and silently not looking back at the mob descending on the corpse of Craven.

TBC…


End file.
